When I first watched Misaeng, I was rooting for Jang Geu-rae.

I was younger then, and closer to his age. So I naturally watched the story through his eyes: a young man entering a world he knew almost nothing about, being looked down on, making mistakes, and gradually finding his feet.

Whenever he overcame another obstacle, I was happy for him. Who doesn’t want to see the underdog grow?

But when I watched Misaeng again years later, someone else caught my attention: Oh Sang-sik, the manager everyone calls Oh Gwajang.

I’m now closer to Oh’s age than to Jang’s. I still understand what Jang goes through, but this time I found myself thinking more about Oh’s choices—especially the way he treats people.

The drama hadn’t changed. The person watching it had.

Why Did Misaeng Strike Such a Chord with Korean Office Workers?

Misaeng, based on Yoon Tae-ho’s webtoon, aired on tvN in 2014. It follows Jang Geu-rae, who spent his youth trying to become a professional baduk (Go) player, then enters the trading company One International after giving up that dream.

The reason it resonated with so many Korean viewers wasn’t complicated. Much of the office felt familiar.

Self-serving bosses. Office politics. Pressure to perform. Unreasonable instructions. Anxiety about whether your job will last.

The conflicts don’t always feel like something created just to make television exciting. If you’ve worked in an office, you may recognize a few of these people.

Of course, companies differ. It would be a mistake to claim that every Korean workplace was—or still is—exactly like One International.

Still, the atmosphere matters. In August 2014, South Korea had about 6.08 million non-regular employees, accounting for 32.4% of wage workers, according to official government statistics. That number alone doesn’t explain the drama’s success, but it helps us understand the employment insecurity of the time.

When I watched it back then, the selfish superiors and internal politics seemed quite believable. What felt less believable was having a boss like Oh—someone willing to stand up for the person beneath him.

Isn’t Jang Geu-rae’s Hiring a Fantasy to Begin With?

Misaeng has a reputation as a realistic workplace drama, and I largely agree. But there’s something rather unusual about its beginning.

Jang has an academic qualification earned through the high-school equivalency exam, no university degree, and no experience in international trading. He spent most of his life preparing for professional baduk, not for corporate recruitment.

And yet he gets an internship at a major trading company through someone’s recommendation.

In the context of big-company hiring in 2014 Korea, that is an exceptional route. I’m not saying people without university degrees could never get corporate jobs. But Jang’s qualifications, experience, and route into this particular company make the setup feel unusually fortunate.

For a drama praised for its realism, the very opportunity that gets its hero through the office door feels almost like fantasy.

What happens once he gets inside is another story.

He can’t possibly know all the jargon or the unwritten rules from day one. He starts behind his colleagues, makes mistakes, learns, and slowly earns respect.

But becoming good at the job doesn’t mean he can rewrite the terms of his employment. Being recognized for your ability and having a secure, permanent position are two different things.

That’s one of the drama’s most interesting contradictions for me: an almost fantastical chance to enter the company, followed by the cold reality of working there.

Different Job Titles Don’t Make People Worth More or Less

If you’re not familiar with Korean workplaces, the way people address one another in Misaeng can be confusing.

You’ll hear titles such as daeri (대리, often translated as assistant manager), gwajang (과장, manager), chajang (차장, deputy general manager), and bujang (부장, general manager). These English equivalents are only approximate.

There’s even a formal junior rank called sawon (사원). Yet while a senior employee might be called “Lee Daeri” or “Oh Gwajang”—surname plus title—interns and junior employees are often addressed by their full names plus ssi (씨), as in “Jang Geu-rae-ssi.” That distinction is a recognizable custom in more traditional Korean offices, although not every company uses it.

Rank and age aren’t the same thing, but both can affect how Koreans address one another. I’ve written separately about why Koreans ask about age and how relationships shape forms of address.

Job titles establish authority, duties, and reporting lines. They are necessary in many organizations. But authority over someone’s work is not authority over their human worth.

A manager may have more responsibility and more power to make decisions. That doesn’t make the manager a more valuable person.

And yet it’s surprisingly easy for that distinction to disappear in everyday office life. Misaeng shows people who use their positions to pressure others, shift blame, or protect their own interests.

Against that background, Oh Sang-sik stands out.

Oh Sang-sik and Kang Hae-joon: Two People I Saw Differently the Second Time

Oh Sang-sik: A boss who gets angry with you, not just for you

I don’t admire Oh simply because he’s kind to Jang. He’s not always kind. He gets angry, scolds employees, and isn’t always right.

But he seems to have a line he won’t casually cross: he doesn’t treat people as disposable.

Early in the series, Jang is unfairly reprimanded because of another intern’s mistake. Oh initially misunderstands the situation and scolds him too. Later, after finding out what really happened, he confronts a manager from the other team.

“Our guy was the only one who got scolded.”

I previously discussed this scene in an article about the Korean word uri (우리), often translated as “our”. There, I focused on how calling someone “our guy” expresses a sense of belonging.

This time, though, the linguistic detail wasn’t what stayed with me.

What moved me was that Oh was angry about the unfairness Jang had experienced.

He doesn’t simply understand that a subordinate was treated unjustly. He does something about it. He takes the other person’s humiliation seriously, almost as if it were his own.

That’s different from feeling sorry for someone.

Performance matters in a workplace. Competence matters. But I believe there is something a boss needs to protect even before those things: another person’s dignity.

I wanted to work for a boss like Oh. And if I became someone’s boss, I wanted to be that kind of boss myself.

Kang Hae-joon: The senior colleague I had misread

I initially saw Assistant Manager Kang Hae-joon as a senior employee who deliberately ignored and tormented Jang Baek-gi.

Watching again, I saw something else. Kang was teaching his junior the basics of practical work and helping him adapt to the organization. His methods weren’t always gentle, and viewers may disagree with them.

But he became one of the supporting characters I noticed most on my second viewing.

A Realistic Ending—and Another Kind of Happy Ending

Spoiler warning: this section discusses the ending of Misaeng.

I like happy endings. If a character has struggled for a long time, I want things to work out.

That’s why I was disappointed when Jang Geu-rae didn’t become a permanent employee at One International. He had worked hard, demonstrated his abilities, and earned the respect of his colleagues.

But none of that was enough to decide his employment status.

The drama refuses to pretend that every structural problem can be solved through one person’s effort and talent.

Perhaps, if a young man who entered through such an exceptional opportunity had also secured the perfect permanent position, the story would have become too convenient.

So the ending felt realistic to me, even if it wasn’t the ending I had hoped for.

And that wasn’t really the end of the story. Oh leaves One International and starts again at another company. Jang and Kim Dong-sik join him.

Jang didn’t get to stay at One International. But he didn’t lose what he learned, the experience he gained, or the people who believed in him.

I liked that ending too. Not getting the job you wanted is disappointing. But starting somewhere else doesn’t automatically mean you’ve failed.

In another sense, it was a happy ending.

That doesn’t erase the real hardship of losing a stable job. The drama doesn’t solve employment insecurity with a comforting slogan. It simply allows the characters another beginning.

I Read the Webtoon, but I Prefer the Drama

I also read Yoon Tae-ho’s original webtoon. It’s a good work in its own right. Personally, though, I liked the TV drama more.

The acting and direction are part of the reason. But the music made a particular impression on me.

It isn’t that I have one favorite track. It’s how the background music fits the scenes—especially the sad, lonely ones. Sometimes you understand what a character is feeling without that person saying a word.

The drama’s music is listed on tvN’s official Misaeng OST page.

In the webtoon, the reader imagines the emotions through drawings and dialogue. In the drama, facial expressions, voices, movements, and music come together. That combination worked for me.

So when I recommend Misaeng to a foreign friend, I don’t want to sell it only as a lesson in Korean office culture. You don’t have to be especially interested in Korea to appreciate it. It’s simply a well-told story.

The first time, I watched Jang Geu-rae and cheered for his growth. Years later, being closer to Oh Sang-sik’s age, I was drawn to the way he treated people.

Maybe another character will stand out when I watch it again years from now.

The meaning of a story can change depending on whose eyes you watch it through. But for me, Misaeng remains a very good drama.

Have you watched Misaeng? Did you relate to a different character when you watched it again? I’d like to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Related reading: Watching Goblin as a Korean: What the Drama Never Had to Explain to Me